


arrow amore

by bangandawhimper



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Dubious Consent, Gunplay, M/M, Mindbreak, Praise Kink, Sex Pollen, consensual murder, this one got away from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2020-10-20
Packaged: 2021-03-08 22:02:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,348
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27123574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bangandawhimper/pseuds/bangandawhimper
Summary: I’m obviously goading you into doing what I want and you’re going to fall for it—aren't you, Akechi?Akira isn’t very talkative so sometimes Goro has to fill in the blanks himself.Either way, he’s an idiot.[Written for day 20 of Kinktober 2020]
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 13
Kudos: 142





	arrow amore

**Author's Note:**

> dedicated to those who simp me hard, fast, and dangerously.

_Billiards, darts, jazz club, Akechi? Not tonight, Akechi? Well then, how about another duel, Akechi? Eight on one wasn’t fair last time but isn’t it true that I’d win again anyway, Akechi?_

_I’m obviously goading you into doing what I want and you’re going to fall for it—aren't you, Akechi?_

Akira isn’t very talkative so sometimes Goro has to fill in the blanks himself.

Either way, he’s an idiot.

_Let’s go down into Mementos on our own, way deeper than you think is safe, Akechi. We need a grand battle arena worthy of our fight, Akechi!_

Idiot.

It was extraordinarily foolish of them to go this deep for something as trivial as a petty duel. The deeper in Mementos, the greater the mysterious pull of collective cognition, the greater effect their Personas have on them.

Good for battle. Bad for keeping one’s wits about them otherwise.

But still, Akechi went along with it, because of course he did. Followed Akira Kurusu down to the deepest level, to the site of what was, apparently, the Phantom Thieves’ last grand battle against a god. Because of course he did.

Whole lot of good that grand battle did them, now. Unnatural blue light everywhere, empty jail cells lining the walls, Maruki-cables extending everywhere out of the center of the room.

The site of a hostile takeover of an old god’s domain by a new god. No danger here, obviously the perfect place for a duel.

_What, Akechi? No, those mysterious, ornate, magical-looking letters on the floor of the Grail Room aren’t lighting up any more than usual, Akechi. Nothing to be concerned about—please keep kicking my ass, Akechi._

_Wow, what do you know, a mysterious Shadow formed out of the light from those glowing letters, Akechi! Let’s not question this at all and fight it because we’re very stupid, Akechi!_

“Kill it and be done with this, Joker,” Goro growls, holding his pistol steady at the Shadow’s head.

Goro has never seen this one before. It’s humanoid—white fluff around its head that reminds him of sheep’s wool, holding a heart-shaped lyre-bow-weapon. And it’s powerful. Powerful enough to give even the pair of them trouble. 

“Wait,” Akira commands, before Goro can spring into action. “What can you give me?”

Fucking gambling _idiot_ —they’re in no state to negotiate. Goro is exhausted from their duel. They both are, because clearly the fight would have ended in a tie had they not been interrupted by this… thing.

The letters printed beneath them flash again. Goro really, very much does not like it when they do that, because he has no idea what they are or what they’re doing. He glances down once more to try and read them, but they’re too ornate to grock from a quick look and seem as though they’re from the Roman alphabet.

“I can give you all that you desire,” the Shadow answers.

“We’ve had enough of that lately, _thanks._ ” Goro rolls his eyes. “Joker—”

“Join me,” Akira interrupts flippantly.

Goro is going to kill him.

The Shadow tilts its head, considering. It looks Akira up and down, the little wings on its back fluttering slightly. “You. You are the one who freed us from Control. You would seek to control us now?”

Akira smiles. “Not control. We’re one and the same, aren’t we?” he says, in that soothing voice of his—the one Akira uses to trick people into thinking he cares about them.

The letters are glowing brighter.

Goro has a really bad feeling about this.

“What do you mean by us?” he asks, because it seems Akira doesn’t want to bother at all. “Are there more of you?”

The Shadow won’t even look at him, entirely fixated on Akira. “Fascinating. I do see myself in you,” it says. The letters beneath them are almost blinding now in their brightness—completely unreadable. Goro chances a look around the rest of this room and finds six similar lettered areas, mercifully all dim. The same way these had been before they started their stupid duel.

So what does that mean? Did they accidentally activate these letters and this Shadow somehow? And does that mean there are six others like this one?

“Joker…”

Akira holds out his hand.

The Shadow laughs. “I remember now—I am Eros, god of luxuria,” it says. “I am thou, thou art I.” And then it shimmers, throws itself forward, disappears into Akira’s mask just the same as all the others have.

Akira staggers back, hand to his mask. The letters dim, now that the master they’re tied to is presumably gone. Goro can see now—yes, that’s _LUXURIA_ they’re spelling.

Luxuria… Latin, most likely. Goro’s Latin is more rusty than he’d like to admit, but he feels like he knows this one. Feels like it’s on the tip of his tongue.

Whatever. He hates this room, has firmly decided so. Goro has no desire to see if six other formidable enemies will appear before them to test them as Eros did.

“Let’s get out of here,” he sighs. Holsters his gun now that the danger has passed—though the thing was out of ammo anyway. Looks to his side to see Akira standing frozen, his hand still on his mask.

“Joker?”

Akira doesn’t respond.

“ _Joker_ ,” Goro tries again.

That gets him something, at least. A “ _yeah_ ,” and a quiet groan, like Akira is in pain. Which Goro honestly, truly hopes he is.

He’s seen this in Akira before. Has felt it himself, though it’s been a very long time. It’s an adjustment, sometimes, when one takes in a new Persona, even if it’s coming from outside rather than within. The stronger and more willful the Persona, the more adjustment required.

Goro glances around the room they’re in, remembers—being this deep in the collective unconscious can’t be helping matters either.

“If you can’t handle it then let that stupid fucking Persona go, it’s not as if you need yet another one,” Goro grumbles, tapping his foot.

“No. No, I’ve got it,” Akira says, staggers a bit. “I’ve… _ah_.”

God. Does he even know what he sounds like?

Goro clears his throat, firmly forgets the little noise. He slides back his gauntlet to check his wristwatch—its little clock warning him that he’s going to be exhausted tomorrow because it’s already so _fucking_ late.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mumbles. Says louder: “you know how dangerous cognition is this deep—let the thing go before you lose yourself. I’m not dragging you out of here.”

Akira seems to have resumed his new role of “pained statue” once again.

“Joker.”

Something had better be seriously wrong at this rate to justify how annoyed Goro is now. He’s a few seconds away from leaving Akira down here to fend for himself.

“ _Akira!_ ”

Akira’s head snaps up. Quick, sure, no stagger left to him at all. Back to being Joker.

His pupils are a bright, malicious, and very attentive red. And they’re trained unerringly on Goro. Maybe not Joker, then.

Fuck.

Goro’s muscles tense, immediately ready for a fight. Red pupils aren’t something Goro has encountered before—mentally flipping through his encyclopedia of status conditions—but this place, this reality, the “Grail Room,” the letters on the floor, that eerily powerful Shadow-turned-Persona… Goro has never encountered any of those before either.

And they were out of battle. There’s no danger here, besides the danger they pose to each other. Status conditions shouldn’t affect them right now.

“Akira!” Goro commands, steady and calm even as Akira stalks toward him. “Stop using that fucking Persona!”

“Shut up, Akechi, I’m— _oh_ ,” Akira moans again, stumbles back again, breathing hard like he’s just run a marathon. He doubles over, holds his head in his hands.

And stays still again.

Maybe he had a handle on it now, Goro hopes.

Why has he chosen this moment to become an optimist? Goro wonders.

“…Akira?” he calls out, places a cautious hand on the hilt of his saber. Just to have it.

And then Akira tackles him.

“ _Fuck—!_ ”

They land in a heap on the hard, unforgiving floor—Goro trying to get his bearings and Akira scrambling inelegantly on top of him.

“Mm, I don't think I will get rid of this Persona, Akechi!” Akira laughs, absolutely manic. He’s staring down at Goro with an expression that makes his stomach flip—like he’s hunting him, like Goro is set to be his next kill—and Goro can see now, this close to him, that the bright red in his pupils are actually little hearts.

“I think I like it. And I think you’ll like it too,” Akira growls breathlessly, rocking their hips together, and Goro notes with distant, vague horror that Akira is hard. 

Eros. Luxuria. _Lust_. Oh, it’s so obvious now. Akira has managed to trap one of the seven deadly sins inside of him.

Shit, this is bad.

It’s clearly far too powerful for Akira to control. Goro is already dangerously tired from their duel and the initial fight with Eros—but Akira is too, at least. If Goro can just finish the job now he can knock Akira out and drag him upstairs and all of this will be over.

He just has to defeat Akira in battle. That’s it. He was going to do that anyway, obviously. It’ll be easy.

Fuck, no, it won’t be fucking easy. Goro’s too smart to let his pride take him that far. But he has to try.

Goro manages to get a foot under Akira’s stomach—kicks him off and flips him over, then struggles to his feet and draws his weapon. His gun is out of ammo, not ideal, but his sword still works.

“I should have known you wouldn’t be easy,” Akira says, standing up as well—leisurely, like he has all the time in the world. “Do you usually like a fight before you fuck? Or am I special?” Akira flips his dagger between his fingers, smirks like he owns the whole world. “You seem like the type, but you’re such a _good boy_ out there.”

“I’m not fucking you,” Goro growls. “Get over yourself and snap out of it.”

Goro swears the red in Akira’s eyes glows brighter. He laughs, “you can’t hide from me, Akechi. I can see the truth.”

Akira launches forward to attack but this time Goro is prepared. Their blades clash with a loud metallic _clang!_ again and again—just like they had earlier, but in this duel the stakes are terribly real.

Goro is not thinking about it. He’s not thinking about it.

“ _Eros!_ ” Akira calls out when they separate. Foolish of Goro to give him the chance. “ _Arrow Amore!_ ”

That bullshit Persona, worst Persona in the world, sniveling sheep-looking ass motherfucker, levels its tacky heart-shaped bow at Goro and fires two shots.

Goro dodges one, of course. The second one that hits him is a fluke and he’s _fine_. He doubles over for just a moment, vision flashing pink—intrusive thoughts that he usually finds so easy to ignore feeling just… just a little louder now.

_Akira wants you, you felt it. Look at his body. You could have him, right here, finally._

_Finally—please!_

Any lesser man would have been overwhelmed right there, Goro is sure. Lucky for him, Goro is used to losing control. And even more used to resisting Akira Kurusu.

He lets out a wordless shout, leans into the madness, uses it as fuel to charge at Akira. He’s lost the ability to intelligently maneuver his sword, tosses it to the ground, but that’s exactly why Crow has claws. 

“You don’t listen, you don’t think!” Goro snarls, scratching wildly at any piece of Akira he can reach. “You imagine yourself invincible and then _this shit happens!_ ”

Goro swipes at Akira’s hand, gets him to drop the dagger, and pushes him against the bars of one of the jails cells lining the walls.

“ _Let go of the Persona!_ ” He screams in his face, then slaps him.

“ _Ah!_ Mm!” Akira cries in response, tongue lolling out like he’s enjoying it. Which he is, obviously, holy shit is Goro stupid.

“Akira!” Tries grabbing him by the lapels, shaking him instead. “Let it go!”

“You think you’re better than me,” Akira responds instead, completely ignoring him. He’s still panting hard, flush high in his cheeks—even more obvious against the white of his mask. His hands start… _wandering_ , and Goro needs to stop him but he needs to keep Akira trapped more. “Suppressing your desires so deep you can pretend you don’t have any,” Akira continues, hearts in his eyes pulsing faintly. “I can see you so clearly, _Goro~_ ”

“Because I’m not throwing myself at everyone in the city?” Goro says, proud at how level his voice comes out while Akira’s hand is feeling up his ass. “I’m not like you.”

“You are—” Akira pitches forward, Goro leans to the side, narrowly avoids him. “You’re just like me,” he whispers in his ear, “you’re worse, _Goro_ , _ah_ —”

Goro looks down before he realizes he shouldn’t have—Akira has a hand down his trousers now, is starting to jack himself off.

“G-get rid of the… Persona…” he says weakly, unable to tear his eyes away.

“No,” Akira says, places a gentle, teasing kiss below Goro’s ear—his mouth is so hot against Goro’s burning skin.

“Then I’ll b-beat it out of you,” Goro says, because one of them has to be the responsible one here. Akira isn’t in his right mind. Akira doesn’t want this. Goro would have known if Akira wanted this. “You’ll—you’ll thank me later.”

He throws Akira to the floor and they resume their fight, which gets Akira’s hand out of his pants at the very least.

The battle goes great.

Fantastic.

Really well.

**_Bang!_ **

“Ah— _fuck—!_ ” Goro moans, drops to his knees and clutches his shoulder where Akira shot him. 

Blood is starting to seep through his bodysuit, red tinted pink like everything else thanks to all the _Arrow Amore_ ’s Goro’s taken to the chest. His hand trembles against the wound, he finds it impossible to get back up on his feet even though he has to, has to for some reason, because it only feels _good._

It feels _so good_.

Akira walks up to him, towers over Goro. He pets his hair gently while Goro pants, keens, tries to keep a hold on his mind.

“That’s right, Goro,” Akira says, the hand in his hair moving to press Goro’s face against the open bulge in Akira’s trousers. Goro can feel his cock against his cheek, the heat of him, straining against the thin material of his boxers.

Some small, ever-rational part of Goro begins to panic.

“Akira… stop…” he rasps out, though he can’t quite grasp the reason why anymore.

“You’re beautiful like this,” Akira croons. His other hand rests against Goro’s bullet wound, lightly grazes it, teasing the pain rather than giving Goro what he wants. “I used to hate you, you know,” Akira continues, while Goro shivers and mouths absentmindedly at the fabric of Akira’s boxers. “High and mighty Goro Akechi, so pretty and perfect. You thought you were so much better than me… now look at you.”

“This isn’t me,” Goro groans, the place he’s pressed against Akira shamefully wet with his saliva. “Isn’t you.”

“It is. I haven’t changed you, Goro, I’ve only broken the chains around your heart. I’ve set you free. It feels familiar, doesn’t it?”

Goro sobs, because it does. His errant thoughts have quieted. Narrowed, to a single-minded focus. Like an animal.

“Here, I’ll give you a present,” Akira says softly. “So you can pretend you had no choice, even though I know all you’ve ever wanted is to get your hands on my cock.”

**_Bang!_**

Goro flinches at the sound, deafeningly close to his ear. Feels the impact of the bullet on the floor next to him.

Akira presses the barrel of his gun to the top of Goro’s head. “Go on.”

He doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to.

Akira sighs, like Goro is a misbehaving child. “Why was I so hung up on you,” he mutters. “If Mako-chan were here she’d be drinking down my cum by now, and she’d be grateful.”

 _No!_ Goro’s mind screams in despair—against the image of Makoto Niijima defeating him in even this, or at his own pathetic surrender.

His hand shakes as he takes Akira’s cock out—Goro imagined this before, in his weaker moments. It went this way in his fantasies too. No romance, no kindness, just relief. Just pretend.

He’s just pretending.

Goro licks the head, places sloppy kisses down to the base of him. Takes in his scent—heady, real, Akira. Akira hums quietly, strokes his hair. “That’s right, Goro. Put it in your mouth.”

Goro does.

He works up and down the length of him, reveling in how Akira throbs when he does especially well, laps up the sickly sweetness beading steadily at his tip. Akira looks down on him with a little smile, keeps petting his hair like Goro really is doing a good job.

“So hot and wet, Goro,” he says. “Maybe I’ll just keep you like this. You’d like that wouldn’t you? Be my pretty little cocksleeve.”

Goro whimpers, takes Akira in deeper.

Consciousness rolls in and out of him like waves. He can’t tell… can’t figure out if this is him that wants this or whatever spell Akira was putting on him. But his vision is no longer tinted pink, hasn’t been for a while.

His desperate pride, the basest, most core part of him, manages to take hold one last time and Goro pulls off of Akira’s cock, pushes him away and grabs the barrel of the gun, wrenches it so it angles somewhere past his head.

**_Bang!_**

Akira actually fucking fires on him, that crazy asshole—clips Goro’s arm.

They collapse in a pile of twisted limbs and snarls on the floor, writhing and scratching before Akira manages to regain control again. He straddles Goro with his hips, holds him down with an arm against his neck, though Goro struggles, struggles, struggles, until delicious pain blooms behind his eyes when Akira whips the brunt of his pistol against his head.

The world goes… fuzzy… for a while.

Every part of him aches. Throbs.

Pain is all Goro’s ever wanted, and he’s finally found someone who can give it to him right.

He tries to find his way back to consciousness but all he can see is Akira’s expression, looking down on him with something like pride when Goro sucked his cock just right. 

All he can taste is Akira.

The world returns to him in pieces, chunks.

Akira is on top of him.

Goro is on the floor.

Akira’s hand is on Goro’s cock.

Goro’s suit has been torn open.

He arches into it, moans unabashedly.

“You’re perfect Goro,” Akira says, and Goro moans again. “Of course you’d put up such a magnificent fight. You wouldn’t be any fun otherwise, isn’t that right? You wouldn’t be special?”

Goro nods frantically and Akira works him faster, harder.

He’s special. Special. Akira. Akira’s eyes—staring at him. Only him. Akira’s eyes have hearts in them, hearts just for Goro, but they’re dim now. Not as bright as before.

Akira’s power is fading. His plan—Goro had a plan, has a plan, of course he does, he always has a plan, he’s so smart, so special. His plan is working. His plan needs a little more.

Goro convulses, arches away from Akira, and calls on

Himself

and screams, fire and fury enveloping him, erupting around him.

he kicks his enemy off of him, steals his gun. he’s faster like this, stronger. he fires at his enemy but misses at first—

**_Bang!_**

then gets him in the shoulder.

**_Bang!_**

he smiles, tells his enemy, “now we match,” and his enemy smiles back.

his enemy— _Akira, Akira, beautiful Akira_ , pounces on top of him. they fight, scuffle, like it’s a game because it is, always is.

playing with their food.

his enemy takes his cock in hand again, gives him pleasure again, places a gun against his head again.

he’s been here before. he’s bored of this.

“whatever you’re going to do,” he snarls at his enemy, “just fucking do it. stop playing around and get serious!”

his enemy laughs, releases him, starts rocking on top of him instead. “i used to hate you, goro… but i kind of still do,” his enemy says. the gun moves—is trained on his forehead now, in the middle between his eyes. “so how about this? is this serious enough for you?” 

he thrusts up, tries to enter his enemy through sheer force of will.

his enemy laughs, wiggles tantalizingly in his lap. “oh, i knew you’d like that. how many bullets are left, goro?”

“one,” he answers.

“are you sure?”

“one,” he answers again, though he can’t really remember. does _Akira, Akira, beautiful Akira_ ’s gun hold six rounds, or eight? how many shots have they fired already? how long have they been fighting?

“do you want to find out?”

he is so close, so close. he needs just a little more. he needs it. “do it,” he says. “do it.”

his enemy places the gun to his lips, tells him: “give it a kiss for luck.”

he does. it tastes like—

“this is justice,” his enemy says, aims the gun once more. “we’ll finally be even. we understand each other, don’t we?”

“do it. do it. don’t hold back,” he says, he begs, though he never begs. “please, please.”

 _Akira, Akira, beautiful Akira_ pulls the triggers—

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


“Ah—!”

Goro gasps, fills his empty lungs with air—air, he needs more air. He coughs, sputters, opens his eyes to find remnants of blue healing magic shining around him.

“Ah—!?”

The front of his face is wet, hot, sticky—the back of his head just the same. His shoulder is burning, and Akira, Akira, beautiful Akira, is above him, bloodied and wild, gun still held in his hand.

Akira shot him. Akira shot him. Akira _killed him_.

“Ah, _f-fuck—!_ ”

Stars explode behind his eyes, Goro throws his head back and screams as he comes harder than he ever has in his entire damned life.

“You came from that?” He can hear Akira laughing, delighted, as he continues to rock on Goro’s cock while it twitches and releases over Goro’s stomach. “You’re just as sick as I thought you were—you’re perfect, Goro.”

 _Perfect_.

Goro has nothing left. No words. No power. No resistance. He just wants Akira. He has always wanted Akira.

Akira climbs off of him because there’s no danger of Goro running now. He grabs Goro’s hips, maneuvers him like a doll onto his hands and knees. His heart pounds weakly in anticipation even as he collapses forward into a puddle of his own blood.

“W-wait, Akira, Akira,” he mumbles—not to stop him, but to fish out a relax gel from his pouch and hand it behind him.

Akira must have used it. His cock is cold and slippery when it pushes inside him, all at once.

Goro feels stretched. Full. It hurts. Everything hurts, everything. He feels spent, used, fucked-out and dead but his cock is hanging between his legs and throbbing, aching again—hardening as Akira starts to pound into him in earnest.

And he finally understands. It’s just like Akira said. This is what he wanted. He’s free.

“Harder, Akira,” he whines, reedy and pathetic. “Akira.”

Akira pulls his hair, slaps his ass so hard Goro nearly falls to the ground, but it’s not enough. “More, more, Akira,” he chants mindlessly as Akira thrusts into him harder, harder, “ _harder_ , fuck me—”

“Goro—” Akira gasps, “ah, ha Goro, you’re—”

And then he _pulls out_ and Goro is _empty_.

“Akira—!” Goro cries.

“You’re so needy,” he hears Akira chuckle again behind him. He slaps his cock against Goro’s ass but doesn’t put it in and Goro is empty, so empty, he needs “more, need you, need to come, please, please—”

“What was that, Akechi? I’ve never heard you beg before, it’s such a pretty sound.”

“Please, please,” Goro says again. Tears are streaming down his face, blood and salt in his mouth. “Please—”

“What do you want Goro?”

“ _You!_ ” he screams. “I want you, you stupid piece of shit! Are you fucking happy!? Why the fuck did you stop fucking me!?”

Akira laughs again, loud and hard. “So I could hear you sing—alright, _Goro~_ ” he says, places a gentle kiss on Goro’s tailbone, finally, finally shoves back into him, and Goro sinks back into mindless pleasure once again.

_You feel so good around me, Goro._

_Moan louder for me, Goro._

_You’re gorgeous like this, Goro._

Goro stares off into space, eyes catching on an ornate-looking “L” etched into the floor. He’s so completely, mercifully lost that he barely registers Akira’s breath speeding up, his thrusts becoming erratic, the wet slide of cum inside him, barely registers coming again himself. Akira lets him go, and Goro collapses down onto the floor in a puddle of his own mess.

Akira falls down next to him in a huff.

And for a while they just stare at each other in silence.

There are no hearts in Akira’s eyes, Goro realizes. Hadn’t there been hearts in Akira’s eyes? When had he turned back to normal?

“Akechi—”

“My pocket,” Goro says, now that his mind is clear. Too clear.

Akira furrows his brow.

“My pocket, there’s a Soma,” he rasps out. “Please.” Goro shivers against the floor, need wracking his body again. “Please, Akira.”

Akira stares at him, then nods. No matter what, they always understood each other.

The cool rush of the Soma floods his body, restores his strength, and Akira pulls Goro up by his hips again, positioning himself behind him.

He shakes in anticipation.

“ _Arrow Amore_ , Goro,” Akira whispers in his ear. And as Goro’s vision turns mercifully pink, Akira pushes inside.


End file.
